SHORT FICTION BY CAL GOLD

This was such a horrifically bad idea. He knew it; Mars knew it in his soul. Even with the trees creaking and a dark feeling settling over his body, he could not understand why he went along.

Mars was easily manipulated, that much was obvious. He wouldn’t admit it nor understand this, but it was so obvious to anyone how fragile that mind was. Lucia knew this, and she damn well took advantage of that. Hell, this was her idea in the first place. She planned this and dragged him along for the sake of it. Who knows if it was just to get a rise out of him, or if she just wanted to see how far she could push it.

Breaking into the church to perform a seance? Such a God-awful idea.

Mars isn't even sure where Lucia got the idea in the first place. Her bright orange hair was illuminated in the light. He watched as her almost perfect body leaned down– she moved like a ballerina, looking for a rock in the gravel. Mars braced himself, something was just wrong but he couldn’t stop what had been put in motion as that rock smashed that glass window. Dark laughs filled the air, and Lucia was so prepared for this. Glass shone in the moonlight, they almost looked like crystals.

Although crawling into the church window wasn’t much fun afterward. Mars managed to cut his hands and face on that broken glass, shards stuck in his cheek as blood slowly dripped down. The blood mixed with glass looked beautiful 

“If you’re going to freak out, you can just go back to your father. Good luck explaining to him how you broke into his church.” The threat loomed over the two of them. She was right.

“I wasn’t-” Word got tangled up in his throat.

”Don’t even bother, you can suck it up or find something else if that’s the more appealing option.”  Lucia was direct. Maybe too much for Mars’s liking.

”Haha, very funny. I can lie, you know? I’m not incapable of it.”

”You sure don’t act like it. Mr. Goody two shoes, you’re the fuckin’ priests’ kid for Christ's sake.” Lucia spit the last part like venom. Mars wasn’t sure what was wrong with being the “priest’s kid” It's not like his dad was a bad person. He was a very kind and caring man. 

“Why are we even here? Just wanted to commit some light crime? For the fun of it?” His face contorted.

”Mars, I tell you we’re breaking into a church, what do you expect?” Lucia set down her bag, rustling around with whatever she had packed away. Slowly pulling out candles, books, papers, and a vial of something, not that Mars wanted to know what it was. That sinking feeling was back, and stronger than ever. He knew what was happening, and yet he was too sucked in.

“You- we? Aren’t actually going to?”

”Oh what, too scared? Don’t tell me you actually believe in this shit Mars?”

It wasn’t that he did or didn’t. This town was known to hold quite a large amount of folklore and folktales. Sure, witches were pretty abundant along with other types of magic. Creatures liked to hang out in the woods, and ghost hunters definitely made a steady living helping spirits rest.

Hell, plenty of residents were themselves “outlandish” creatures of folklore. This city was an urban paradise for that stuff. But real full demons that you summon? It just wasn’t something that people here questioned, fucked with or ever wanted to interact with.

“N-No. It’s fine Lu, let’s just get this done and over with so we can get out before the cops get called.” Mars resigned himself to his fate.

Lucia knew this like the back of her hand, looking closer at that book it was old and worn, maybe it had been used before. She had an interest in this sorta stuff, notes left in the margins, but Mars could never really place if she truly believed in it. Yet, it seemed real enough in this moment. Set up was kind of a blur, Mars was too busy in a tailspin of worry and anxiety. Every moment in he regretted it more and more but he was stuck in the moment, almost in a trance.

Summoning a demon was a God-awful idea. But here he was.

Lucia’s hands were freezing, too cold for a normal person. Mars just brushed it off, mind slowly dissociating as the “ritual” started. Mentally he was hoping it was just nothing, it would be fake, it wouldn’t work but his gut felt deadly.

His head started pulsing like someone was taking a jackhammer to it, eyes shaking and going out of focus - Lucia didn’t care, she just kept speaking. In the haze of smoke, Mars could swear he saw a smile on Lucia’s face. She was enjoying this. That sadistic fu-

It wasn’t long before his mind gave out. It wasn’t a fight, it wasn’t smooth. It was like getting your neck snapped. Harsh, jagged, a nauseating crunch in his skull.

Mars wasn’t sure if he heard his body hit the floor, or if it was just the reverb in his head, or the glass getting lodged deeper into his skin. As his mind slowly cleared he felt bleak empty, hollow, like a dead body. Something no longer fit into place. The world was different. This wasn’t the church.

The more he tried to move his body, the less his legs worked. He managed, in all this twisting, writhing agony he felt, to slowly pull himself down this hallway. It was dark and foggy but euphoric in a sick perverted way. Frozen like a morgue, numb, and chemical-smelling. His body no longer felt like his.

Mars swore he could feel the texture of his veins, the workings of his organs, his body forcing himself alive, the call of a voice at the end of this god-forsaken hallway. A mirror shone in the distance—an ornate-looking thing. The floor felt fleshy the more he dragged along it, the texture of organs and blood, staining every surface sticky and metallic. Everything was shades of black and red, everything sticking to his hair and clothes, working its way into every crack and crevice. At the end of the hall was a mirror.  Mars pulled himself, he had an endpoint, and by God, he was going to reach it.  It felt like it must’ve been hours.

The mirror was finally within reach. Mars reached out, it was a beautiful thing. Intricately carved, everything spiraling closer and closer to the glass. God, it was magnetic. He was no longer sure if time was real. Was it minutes? Was it hours? Days? Years? Nothing else was solid but this moment.

A icy, shaking hand reached out, and a head full of messy red hair stared into it. His reflection staring in and a void peered back. A pair of hollow eyes, a rosary dangling around the neck of himself. All in an instant, or maybe forever. The void reached out and consumed him. An inky darkness.

It was so cold.

Mars woke up. It wasn’t a horrible dream, or maybe it was, he lay face down in a freezing church. Harsh floorboards under his body, pews surrounding him. The smell of smoke swirled around him. The burnt-out shells of candles. A shitty salt circle disturbed by a rush of footsteps. Things were different and all the same.

A taste of regret lingered in his mouth, a bile boiling in his stomach. That one came up pretty quickly, much to his dismay. It was sour, acidic, and black. That sure wasn’t any type of normal. He felt it stain his teeth, and his mouth, and even the bones in his jaw felt the burning. Like gum sticking to every surface, trying its best to keep his mouth shut.

His whole body ached, and Lucia was nowhere to be found. All the books and papers swept up like nothing had happened. She probably didn’t want to get busted for breaking in, let alone whatever happened on this side. Was it tragic Mars wasn’t surprised? Or maybe a sobering reality that at least she was still the same.

His lips were dried and cracked, his eyes felt like they’d burst out of his skull. Looking down, he was covered in bruises, his skin even more sickly than before. His veins popped out a dark blue almost black. In the light of the moon, he looked like something otherworldly.

Mars needed out, even if it was the death of him. He twisted in pain, every limb screaming at once, he was intent on dragging this body up off the floor. He felt like a puppet on strings, something wasn’t right. It wasn’t right.

Mars couldn’t place but deep in his stomach, a heavy weight sat. Like those deadly intrusive thoughts hanging over the soul. Something telling you to do horrible things, something that had sunk its claws in. The black roots, the veins that ran in his skin. His brain had molded and twisted. A heavy anchor placed inside him. Something that seemed impossible to pull out.

Something pulled him apart. A constant voice, eyes watching him when no one was there. A voice he couldn’t make out hung in his throat. A voice was there in the background. Hidden in the static, but it called out horrifically.

Every step towards the door felt like hell, felt like his veins had become marionette strings. That door had to be his lifeline, the moon shone through the stained glass window above it. The church was silent, you could shatter the tension with a pin drop. But that door was closer than ever. His body was dead weight, clothes, hair, skin, flesh, and bones all holding him down.

Even if the metal of the doors burned his hands, even if his lungs were working overtime. His nerves were on fire, everything screaming all at once in a beautiful choir. Even in this puppet-like state. He was getting out of here. The step over the threshold was agony, but he was out. The weight wasn’t gone, his knees buckled, falling into the dirt.

He twisted himself around to look at the sky. The clouds had cleared, and the sky was beautiful. The stars shone brighter as if he’d never seen them before. Everything felt raw.

The wind is a bitter waking reminder of the world. Cars in the distance blaring. The reality of people was sobering—fresh cool air in his burning lungs. The dark trees still creaking. The plants are still alive. The fall air was still moving.  Everything felt electric.

Mars was still alive.

Even if that voice didn’t sound like him.